The Woman at 72 Derry Lane. Carmel Harrington

28

      

       Chapter 29

      

       Chapter 30

      

       Chapter 31

      

       Chapter 32

      

       Chapter 33

      

       Chapter 34

      

       Chapter 35

      

       Chapter 36

      

       Chapter 37

      

       Chapter 38

      

       Chapter 39

      

       Chapter 40

      

       Chapter 41

      

       Chapter 42

      

       Chapter 43

      

       Chapter 44

      

       Chapter 45

      

       Chapter 46

      

       Chapter 47

      

       Chapter 48

      

       Chapter 49

      

       Chapter 50

      

       Chapter 51

      

       Chapter 52

      

       Chapter 53

      

       Chapter 54

      

       Epilogue

      

       Acknowledgements

       Book Club Questions

       Keep Reading …

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Carmel Harrington

       About the Publisher

       Chapter 1

      STELLA

       Derry Lane, Dublin, 2014

      Stella held her breath as he circled her. He moved slowly, methodically, inspecting every inch of her body. His breath nipped the back of her neck with menace. He combed through her hair with long, cool fingers. She willed herself not to move, not to shudder, not to react.

      ‘Very nice,’ Matt whispered and, despite herself, she exhaled in relief. The air crackled and shifted with his elation at her reaction. She knew he was getting off on her fear. She would have to work harder not to give him that satisfaction.

      Her reprieve was short-lived. No sooner had the word ‘nice’ been uttered, than a long, dissatisfied sigh was exhaled through his perfect white teeth. His face scrunched up in a frown and the vein on his forehead throbbed in protest. Matt stood back and shook his head slowly, disappointment tainting the air around them.

      Damn it. What had she missed? In a frenzy Stella went through a quick mental checklist. Hair blow-dried pokerstraight by her hairdresser and friend, Charlie, earlier, exactly as Matt liked it. Her make-up was applied carefully, with neutral shades that accentuated her eyes and complemented her nude lips. Stella thought back to the night a few years ago when she’d paid sorely for experimenting with a new look. Matt had walked into the bedroom, watching her as she stained her lips red. She felt glamorous and sexy. Until he stood behind her, groping her left breast and squeezing it so tight that his fingernails marked her skin.

      ‘You’re hurting me.’ She protested, trying to wriggle free from his grip.

      ‘Oh, you don’t like this?’ he asked, placing another hand on her behind and smacking it hard.

      ‘No!’ She exclaimed. She was stunned, completely immobilised by his tone and actions.

      He pulled away from her and said, ‘Well, you surprise me. Because this …’ He pointed to her face, ‘this trashy make-up will result in a similar response from every man you meet. You look like you belong in a whorehouse.’

      Was he joking? No. His face was anything but jovial. She felt annoyance bubble up inside her. How dare he say such nasty things to her?

      ‘What